


Flying High

by xxenjoy



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Dirty Talk, M/M, PWP, Public Hand Jobs, Sex with a stranger, sex on a plane
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-30
Updated: 2018-01-30
Packaged: 2019-03-11 16:42:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13528362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xxenjoy/pseuds/xxenjoy
Summary: In which Dean hates flying, and Cas helps to calm his nerves.





	Flying High

Dean hates flying. No grey area, no _unless_ , he just flat out hates it; planes are metal boxes that weigh hundreds of tons and shouldn't be able to leave the ground, much less fly. Unfortunately for him, Dean also loves his little brother more than he hates flying - _barely_ , he thinks bitterly - so here he is, his duffel slung over one shoulder and his heart beating a furious tempo in his chest. 

This airport is no different than any other; full of people and full of noise. He tries to tune it all out and calm himself like Charlie told him to, but Jo is at his side babbling incessantly about how he has to say hi to Sam for her and how much fun he's going to have in California, and it's impossible to focus on anything else. 

"Can we just sit," he snaps, a little too sharply, but Jo just shrugs and accepts it for what it is; nerves. She takes his hand and leads him through the crowd until they find a relatively empty seating area near the check-in desks. Dean drops into the seat heavily, dumping his bag into the one next to him and fiddling with the paper coffee cup that he's been carrying around for the last half hour, every last drop of coffee sucked out of it. 

"Are you sure coffee was a good idea?" Jo asks, looking at him with concern as she takes a seat next to him, "your nerves are shot as it is, I don't think you needed the extra caffeine."

"'M fine," Dean mumbles, pulling the stopper out of the lid and chewing on it.

"Uh huh," Jo replies, clearly doubtful, "are you excited to see him?"

Dean nods automatically, "yeah, yeah I am, haven't seen the kid in ages." 

He pulls up a smile, but they both know it's false, and it fades after a few seconds anyway, settling back to neutral. Sam's not particularly a subject he likes to talk about, least of all when he's stressed out already. He's proud as hell that Sam made it into Stanford, but he's the only family Dean's got left, and now that he's halfway across the country, they rarely get to see each other. Sam was supposed to come back for his birthday earlier in the year, but the weather was shitty and his plan was grounded, so it's been close to nine months now since they've seen each other. The better part of a year, Dean thinks. 

He frowns to himself thinking about it, and Jo takes the cup out of his hands, "c'mon, we should get you through security. Please, once you get through eat something or you're just going to feel even worse, and for God's sake, _relax_. You're gonna wear yourself out before you even get on the plane." 

She rises to her feet and Dean grudgingly follows, checking his watch as he follows after her toward the line of check-in desks. She waits to one side as he goes through, and he doesn't have any checked luggage so he should get through pretty quickly. Jo waits on the outside of the barrier until he's next in line, then she wraps her arms around him and promises he'll be okay, leaving him with a kiss on the cheek and a threat to come after him if he doesn't call her the second he lands. 

Dean actually laughs, and then she's gone and he's walking up to the desk. Documents in hand, he readjusts his bag over his shoulder and smiles at the sandy-haired man who greets him. This part is easy, this part he can do, going through security doesn't bother him - he has nothing to hide. It goes quickly, quicker than he expected, even, and then he's free out the other end. The smell is familiar; too many perfume stalls and a handful of fast food restaurants - all unfortunately on the opposite side of security where Jo can't follow him. He glances at a liquor store down to his left, debating whether or not to make a stop, but after a few minutes he realizes the chances of being able to drink it on the plane are slim to none, and he passes it by. 

His ticket says gate 8b, and he keeps a close eye on the signs overhead, continually glancing down at the paper in his hands. When he finds his gate, there are only a few scattered people sitting in wait, and instead of sitting right away, he crosses to the closest food stall there is - some organic place that Sam would go crazy for. With an exasperated sigh, he orders a grilled chicken salad and a bottle of water because he knows his stomach will handle it better, even if he would rather have a burger and fries. 

The salad is decent, but he barely eats half of it, still struggling against the nauseated feeling that swells in his stomach. All he wants to do it turn back and go home, but it's too late now; he's made it all the way to his gate, and besides, he promised Sam. That's what it all comes down to in the end - Dean wants to see his brother more than anything. More even than his irrational - scratch that, totally rational - fear of flying. 

He dumps the rest of the salad, finishing the last of his water before tossing the bottle as well. Still uncomfortable with the idea of sitting still, Dean wanders around for a while. There's not much to do, but there's enough to take his mind off things for a little while. When he does sit down at his gate, it's because he can't distract himself any further. If he's going to worry, he may as well do it sitting down. 

The seats aren't exactly comfortable, but its better than pacing aimlessly until they call his flight to board. He shifts, trying to find a comfortable position before conceding to discomfort and slumping against the back of the seat. He pulls his phone out and sticks his earbuds in, turning his music up loud enough to drown out the random chatter in the background. 

He shuts his eyes and focuses on the lyrics, humming along softly, and it helps for a little while, but then his mind wanders and his stomach flips over itself again. He tries to read, but he can't focus, and his phone won't connect to the wifi, he's giving up hope of anything being able to keep him occupied until someone drops into the seat next to him with a sigh, adjusting his trenchcoat and cursing the wifi. 

"You too huh?" Dean asks, and he's not one to start up a conversation with random strangers, but he's got the perfect excuse, and if this guy's chatty, it'll help him forget about his impending doom. Flight. 

"It's the airport," his companion grumbles, "everywhere else it's fine, but I can never connect here." 

Wow, Dean thinks, this guy has some fucking voice; if he can get him to talk, he will definitely be able to distract him until they board. 

"You fly often?" he asks, and when the guy turns to him, Dean's stunned for a second by the intensity of his eyes, and he has to stop himself from staring.

"Yes."

Okay so maybe this guy's not a big talker - back to the drawing board. He turns back to his phone, opening the solitaire app and then debating if he actually wants to play it. He shuts it down again and he's just about to text Sam when he's interrupted.

"Business or pleasure?" Trenchcoat guy asks with a look that doesn't seem particularly amused but gives Dean the impression that he's joking. 

"Neither. I'm visiting my brother. You?"

"Business," he frowns, and Dean looks him over.

"So that's why the-" he gestures to the suit and coat, and the guy nods. "Gotcha."

"I'm Castiel," he offers, and when Dean turns to him, he's smiling.

"Uh, Dean." He takes a deep breath and slouches further in his seat, tapping his fingers on his knee.

"You don't do this very often, do you?"

"I try not to," Dean nods, "I uh, I'm not a good flier, but it's a hell of a drive to Palo Alto." 

Castiel grins, and Dean realizes he's already starting to feel a little better, although a lot of that might be the fantasies he's conjuring up that involve Castiel in compromising positions in airport bathrooms. They talk about anything, and everything and Dean realizes that Cas is doing it on purpose, trying to get him to stop thinking about the flight and concentrate on what he's saying, which isn't difficult consider Dean could just listen to him for hours on end. 

They're just starting in on a conversation about music- turns out Cas is a huge Zeppelin fan, which is amazing - when the flight attendants pass through their gate, and the sickening unease sneaks back up on him again. 

"You'll be okay," Cas soothes, resting his hand on Dean's knee, and Dean realizes belatedly that he's tensed up again.

"Unless we crash," he grits out, and Cas laughs softly.

"I promise we won't crash."

"And if we do?"

"I'll take full responsibility," he grins, and his complete ease helps to soothe Dean's nerves a little.

Dean's section is called over the speaker and he rises, shouldering his back again and looking back at Cas with a grin, "thanks for... y'know."

"Not a problem. See you on the other side."

Dean's less than excited about boarding, especially when it means leaving the safety net that Cas has woven for him in the past forty-five minutes. He hands his ticket and passport over to the woman behind the desk and makes awkward small talk while she inputs the information, and then he's on his way, walking down the stupid tunnel to the giant, flying death trap.

He finds his seat without much trouble, but he's in the aisle and no one's taken the seat next to him yet. He plops down, waiting for his seatmate and texts Sam that he's on the plane and he'll see him in a few hours. 

"What are the odds?" comes a voice from above him, and Dean looks up to find Castiel smiling down at him. "That's my seat."

"You're kidding."

Cas shows him his ticket, and Dean double-checks his own seat number, but no, Cas is right. He gets up and lets him in, tucking his bag under the seat in front of him. 

Just having Cas next to him again makes him feel better, and he's distracted until the flight attendants do their little speech, and he buckles his seatbelt, pulling it tight. Cas brushes his fingers over Dean's knee, letting his palm settle just above it.

"Just lie back and relax," he says, like it's the easiest goddamn thing, but Dean closes his eyes and tries anyway, despite the mental retorts he's screaming at Cas. 

He shifts back in his seat and he's expecting Cas to pull his hand back into his own lap, but he doesn't, and Dean's breathes a little easier with the weight of it on his leg. Even as they take off, Dean just grips the armrests tightly and focuses on Cas' hand on his leg. 

He shuts his eyes as Cas' thumb starts rubbing small circles against his jean, and he focuses hard on the gentle touch. It's meant to be calming, comforting, but Dean's mind warps it, imagining Cas slipping up his thigh and moving to climb into his lap, pressing up against him and touching him everywhere. He knows he shouldn't think these things about a perfect stranger who, so far, has done nothing but try and make Dean more comfortable, but the thoughts help to distract him better than anything else could. 

He doesn't know how long he spends in his head, imagining all the ways Cas would touch him if they weren't stuck on this stupid plane, but Cas shifts in the seat next to him and it pulls him back to reality. When he glances over, Cas' expression is neutral, but he's unfolding one of those blue travel blankets and spreading it over both of them. Dean lifts an eyebrow questioningly, and Cas doesn't speak, but his hand slips further up Dean's thigh and the press of denim against his cock sends sparks shooting up his spine, and when Cas levels him with a look, it's dark and resembles something not unlike arousal. Dean shifts in his seat to face Cas, and when he moves his hips, he realizes what Cas was trying to convey to him; he let himself get so lost in the touch of Cas' hand and the fantasies in his head, that he didn't realize the effect it was having, and now he's 30,000 feet up in the with a perfect stranger and a totally awkward boner. 

" _Fuck, shit_ -" he hisses, tugging the corner of the blanket so it covers his lap. He's incredibly embarrassed, wishing he could drop out of the bottom of the plane, and if the searing heat in his face and at the back of his neck isn't bad enough, Cas is stifling a laugh next to him. Fucking Christ, this couldn't get any worse. 

"I'm sorry," Cas says softly, "you seemed so peaceful, I didn't mean to bother you."

"Nice choice of words, Cas," Dean grumbles, pointedly avoiding his gaze. Cas fingers slip down the inside of Dean's knee, sliding slowly up his thigh, and Dean's cock twitches at the proximity. His eyes fall shut, his lips parted as he mumbles,

"Cas, what are you doing?" 

"Tell me if you want me to stop," Cas says, perfectly casually, like he's not inches from Dean's hard cock. 

"Look, man, you don't have to do this."

"Do you want me to stop?"

He has to think about that. The answer should be simple; no, I don't want some random stranger touching me in the middle of a crowded plane, but it's not, and Dean takes too long to respond because he kind of likes the idea of it. 

"Have you ever done anything like this before?" Cas asks, and Dean shakes his head, "no? You've never been so aroused that you just couldn't wait? You had to get off right then and there?"

Dean shakes his head, but his cock throbs against the front of his jeans, and he's thinking that this might be what Cas is talking about, "I want you to touch me," breathes, just barely loud enough for Cas to hear him, "you want to, don't you?"

"Yes," Cas breathes, and fuck, that's good enough for him. Dean rests his head back against the seat, turning to look at Cas and he rolls his shoulders. Cas fingers slip up his thigh, dancing right up to the bulge of his cock, then falling away again, and Dean does his best to keep from pushing up into the touch and attracting unwanted attention. 

It's hard though because Cas insists on teasing him, on making him think he's going to touch him and then pulling back at the very last second so Dean throbs desperately in his confines. 

" _Cas_ ," he groans, "please, I need you to touch me." 

"What are you thinking about, Dean?"

"Nothing," he mumbles.

"That's not true, you're focusing hard on something, what is it?"

"I'm focusing on not moving because I don't want someone to walk by and find your hand on my cock," Dean hisses, but he knows this isn't the answer Cas is looking for, and after a couple of breaths, he relents, "'m thinking about you," he mumbles.

"Good," Cas hums, "tell me where you want me." His fingers slide over the bulge of his erection ad Dean does his best to hold back a moan, but when he speaks, his voice is shattering.

"In my car," he huffs, then backtracks, " _on_ my car. On the side of the road becuase neither of us can wait any longer."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," Dean nods, "we're supposed to be going somewhere, or going home from somewhere but you won't stop touching me and I can't-" he bits his lip as Cas works open the button on his jeans, dragging the zipper down as quietly as he can, "I can't take it anymore, I need you- _fuck, Cas_ , I need you-"

"Yeah baby, I need you too. Tell me how you want me."

"I pull the car over and get out, but you're a step ahead, pinning me a- _ah- fuck_ , Cas- against the car," he manages. Cas' fingers slip inside his boxers, coiling around his length and pulling up hard. He's impatient, Dean can feel it in the way his wrist twists and snaps at the head, and when Dean looks down at him, Cas is palming himself through his slacks. 

"Fuck me," Dean groans, "fuck me baby, _fuck_ -" he readjusts himself, reaching to curl his fingers around Cas' clothed erection. Cas is quick about unzipping himself, and Dean slips his fingers inside, curling around him. Cas is hot and thick in his hand, and Dean strokes him slowly, imagining the way he would taste if Dean could just get his mouth around him. 

He groans at the thought of it as Cas' fingers pull up again, his thumb rubbing over the head, and Dean very nearly doubles over with the effort it takes not to fuck up against his hand. He feels the warm pull of arousal and he knows he's already close. 

"Crap," he mumbles, and Cas huffs a quiet laugh as Dean's forehead bumps against his own. He doesn't want this to be over; he doesn't want to stop touching Cas, and he never wants Cas to stop touching him, but when he grips him tighter and Cas' breath stutters, it just pushes Dean closer to the edge. 

"'S okay," Cas breathes, like he thinks it's the public thing that's holding Dean back. _Yeah, right_ , Dean thinks, struggling to focus as Cas' hips rise with the slide of his hand. If he didn't have better control over his body, he'd be lucky not to have come in his pants before Cas even got around to touching him properly. Cas groans and mutters something that sounds like _fuck, that's hot_ , and Dean realizes he's been talking this whole time. 

"If I wasn't on such a tight schedule," Cas huffs, pressing his nose against Dean's shoulder, "I'd pull you into the bathroom the second we land and fuck you 'til you can't walk straight."

Cas' cock twitches in his hand, and that's it, it's all over. Dean clenches his jaw, breathing fast and heavy through his nose as he comes, his cock twitching and spurting between Cas' fingers. He's mindlessly jacking Cas, and he doesn't realize that Cas is coming too until he's slumped back in his seat, and slipping his fingers through Cas' release. 

His head is still spinning, but Cas manages to get them cleaned up without moving the blanket and Dean just drops his head back against the seat. There are a million questions he wants to ask, but he can't get them sorted in his head.

"Fuck," is all that he can get out, and next to him, Cas huffs a little laugh. 

"Indeed." 

Dean shifts in his seat, but Cas presses a hand to his thigh, holding him down, "you should try and rest, we still have a little while before we land." Dean nods and shuts his eyes, tucking his softening dick back into his pants and zipping up. He rests on the armrest, still leaning into Cas' space. 

"That was amazing," he mumbles, for lack of better conversation.

"Glad I could help. It's just too bad I won't be on your returning flight."

 _You're telling me_ , Dean thinks. His whole body feels heavy and sated and he shuts his eyes, just for a second. 

The next thing he knows, Cas is shaking his shoulder gently, and he groans as he opens his eyes, stretching as well as he can in the confined space. 

"What's up?" he grumbles, and Cas chuckles lightly next to him.

"You fell asleep. We're landing," he explains, and Dean's brain is foggy with sleep, but he looks out the window at the city below and puts two and two together. Cas holds his hand as they descend, although Dean insists it's not necessary, and they gather their things up together, Cas stuffing the blanket into his bag lest someone find it and start asking questions. 

Everything moves surprisingly quickly once they hit the ground, which is uncommon, but Dean suspects it has a lot more to do with the fact that he doesn't want to just walk away from Cas. He barely resists sighing as everyone rises from their seats, and he pulls his bag down from the overhead storage. 

He and Cas file out with everyone else and the flight attendants smile and wish them a good time in California. They walk away like nothing, and Dean's heart is racing because fuck, he can't believe they got away with it.

They go through security together, and then Dean has to face the realization that unless they bump into each other back home, he's never going to see this beautiful stranger again. He frowns to himself as they head for the front doors and the line of taxis. He spots Sam standing in the parking lot, leaning on his car and Sam looks over and waves. This is it. 

Cas steps toward the first taxi, then stops and turns back. He sucks his bottom lip and hands Dean a piece of paper, "call me when you get back to Lawrence," he says, "if you're still interested in that car thing." He smiles, and Dean can feel his cheeks burn as Cas ducks into his cab.

He folds the paper in half, barely paying attention as he crosses the road to get to Sam, then pulls his wallet out and tucks it carefully inside. 

"Who was that?" Sam asks, raising an eyebrow at him, and Dean just shrugs with a grin.

"No one."


End file.
